This Music
by DreyInsanityCorner
Summary: Steve Randle stumbles through a particularly distasteful day, with his head hung low and his lungs seizing. Then, he hears music.


**This music**

**A 'The Outsiders' fanfic**

**Second work in the fandom! Yay! Aain I'll be tackling my StevePony brotp, with tons of angst!**

**Disclaimer: I do not even pretend to own The Outsiders or any of Hinton's works**

* * *

Steve huffed a heavy puff of his cancer stick, pausing on his tracks, and glaring at the sky with all that his enraged and exhausted self could muster.

Damn it all. Damn his old man for being a dead beat. Damn his mom for abandoning them, and damn him for always coming back even when it's crystal clear his father wanted no business with him.

Steve fisted both of his hands at the burning sensation in his eyes.

Why does he keep coming back? To what kind of sick miracle was he so desperately holding to?

He cursed at his useless internal rambling and at the fact that he already smoked the whole stick, that one had been the last of his pack. It shouldn't really come as a surprise that he smoked the whole box whilst walking from his place to the Curtis', yet, his nerves were still boasting haywire.

With a grunt, he ditched the burned butt of the cigarette somewhere in front of the Curtis' porch and went up to it.

He just needed to hang out with Soda, he'll forget it all after a couple rounds of poker and maybe a huge slice of chocolate cake. Yeah, he could-

Short of opening the front door, two facts basically smacked him across the face. The first, Soda wasn't home, and he would've realized that from the start had he taken the time to remember that his best friend left on a date almost right after his shift that afternoon. His first ever date since Sandy, the ordeal already about a year behind. Steve wasn't about to butt into this one, Sodapop desperately needed some action with a new broad. Now, his only savior would be if Two-Bit had decided to crash at the Curtis house like he'd so often do, but it didn't seem like that was the case. Steve was also aware that Darry was still at work.

That's when the second fact struck him a good one; there was music coming from the house. The distinctive melody of piano keys being rhythmically pressed was bouncing all over the walls.

During all his existence, Steve Randle had only known two Curtis family members to ever touch an instrument and be good at it.

One of them is dead.

The other is Ponyboy Curtis.

He was frozen where he stood, unsure to come inside or not. It seemed like intruding all of a sudden. He knew for a fact that the kid had barely touched their piano since the accident, if he ever scavenged the courage to do it now, it was like a sanctuary that shouldn't be breached. At least, that's what Soda told him, since the mechanic had never been present to one of those rare spectacles.

Normally, he wouldn't have cared much for invading the kid's privacy or anything, but Soda made it sound like Pony really found his peace while playing. Steve himself was craving some tranquility, a way to ease the turmoil of emotions raging feverishly inside him. He wasn't about to deprive a fifteen-year-old boy from that peace just because he couldn't get it for himself.

Maybe he should just head back, leave Curtis alone for once and maybe try to sneak back into his room unnoticed.

Almost synchronized with the thought, a brief pinch of pain flared up from the left side of his face, making him wince. When it eased out, Steve caressed the spot with the tip of his fingers almost as an afterthought. The skin was tender to the touch, surely beginning to bruise.

He sighed at his luck, discovering that he was truthfully a little scared to go home.

His father had hit him for the first time, a well-delivered punch to the face. Steve himself had been so stunned that he stumbled back and fell, looking up at his old man with wide eyes. Recalling it now, it shouldn't have surprised him at all. With so many heated arguments that they tended to get into, and the amount of alcohol coursing through the older man; it was bound to happen someday.

Steve just, wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Rather, he was hoping it wouldn't happen while he still had to live with the oldest Randle for, at least, another year.

After the hit, his father had stared him down coldly, then he spat at him to get scram right away, that he couldn't bare to look at him for a second longer. Steve did just that, he stood up, shaking if only a small bit, and left. He was fuming with anger and indignation and a touch of embarrassment, shouting some choice words as he slammed the door behind him and then, struggling to keep certain emotions at bay, lit a smoke that would too soon be followed by many.

He had briefly wondered if that had been how Pony felt like after that day almost a year ago; confused, angry, hurt? But he figured that their scenarios had some excruciating differences, making it impossible to ever try to find the similarities at all. For starters, the only thing Ponyboy had ever received from Darry had been love and care, so, it was understandable how shocked they both were when the oldest Curtis hit him, so shocked, that Pony ran away.

Steve? Steve had been playing around with a ticking time bomb, seeing how many buttons he could press before it detonated.

That's how he instead found himself comparing his little episode with Johnny and Dallas' lifestyle. Would it eventually turn into that? A beating every night he came home late? Would greet his bed every night tainted in black and blue?

The more he thought about it, the more nervous he got, the more sticks he went through. Somewhere in the back of his mind begging that he was just being paranoid. That his father had screwed up, that he had just been drunk and angry, and that Steve just happened to be standing and hollering too close to his face. That it wouldn't happen again. That his father wouldn't lay a hand on him again. That he was playing a Ponyboy and overthinking the whole thing.

Now, here he was. Standing in front of the brothers' home, listening to the youngest's music, too scared to move forwards or backwards.

He did have a third option at hand, one that seemed the most convenient to him if he was being honest. He decided to go with it, sliding down until he sat on the wooden porch, leaning his back against the front door, and listening.

The longer he sat there, the more he realized that, the tune that Ponyboy was currently playing, Steve had already heard before. It was much familiar to him, and it unsettled him how his heart began to pound with nostalgia.

Mrs. Curtis used to play that all the time.

The music was making Steve feel constricted, anxious, because it was so soothing and rich that it felt wrong. Wrong to be played in the woman's absence.

But, then again, it didn't feel like she was absent at all. He could imagine her, picture her, standing next to her son, beaming with pride, and hugging him boneless when he was done.

Steve wondered if he'd receive those hugs, or soft kisses, had his mother stayed, or if she'd taken him with her. Had his father left instead, had he not recurred to alcohol.

He wondered if she would offer him some chocolate cake every time he came home, like Mrs. Curtis had. If she'd scold him for every fight he got in, but still patch him up as gently as she could, like Mrs. Curtis had. If she'd go out of her way to make him and his beat buddy crack a smile after any petty argument they had, like Mrs. Curtis-…

It hurt. It hurt to wonder, to gaze into 'what if's for too long. He didn't want to hurt anymore than he already did, he just wanted to focus on the music. He desperately needed to get lost in the melodies and let everything else blur in the background. He really wanted to, except, the music was gone.

Seemingly, it had been for a while, because Ponyboy was crouched in front of him. He was talking, but Steve wasn't sure if he could understand.

Ponyboy looked, anxious? concerned? Steve noticed he was getting louder, but he couldn't-

"Steve!"

He jolted as everything snapped back into focus and Ponyboy's yell burst through his ears. Maybe he was startled a bit too strongly, because he ended up banging his head against the door. He cursed, nursing his added bruise with his left hand. He couldn't believe he had dozed off on the freaking porch. He turned to face his abrupt wake up alarm and paused.

Wait, 'How the heck did Ponyboy get outside?'

"Steve."

"What?" He snapped back at the younger teen without really meaning to, but the other didn't seem surprised in the least.

"Are you okay?" He asked, looking earnestly worried, which only baffled Steve.

"…What?" He stuttered out again, apparently not being able to phrase anything else.

Suddenly, Ponyboy switched from crouching to sitting in front of him uninvited. "I, uh," He started, unsure, looking a little embarrassed, "heard you outside, and I didn't wanna piss you off by knockin' you with a door. I tried hollerin' from the inside, but you didn't budge, so, I took the back door and came here. You look-," he caught himself as Steve raised a daring eyebrow, "…pretty out of it and…you're cryin'."

Steve wiped his entire face with his hands and jumped to his feet before Ponyboy could blink. Steve wasn't even aware that he had been crying, he didn't even believe it until he felt the moist lines down his cheeks.

He winced when he accidentally brushed over his bruise.

"Steve-

"I'm fine." He cut him short, cursing at himself for being caught so off guard by the kid.

Ponyboy frowned. "No, you're not. What happened to you?"

"Nothin'! I'm-," his breath hitched completely against his command. He realized that, for some reason, he couldn't just blatantly lie to the kid. He took a deep breath and gave Pony a sincere look. "I'm better now, kid. Really."

The younger teen seemed troubled on letting the subject go, but eventually he fell silent and opened the door for Steve. The mechanic startled at that, having almost forgotten that he was still outside.

Walking in, his eyes immediately fell upon the piano, just over the far corner that the instrument had been tucked into. The keys were visible, the stool just out of place. Someone had definitely played today. He was glad he hadn't just imagined it.

"So," he began awkwardly, sort of shifting where he stood, "you take any requests?"

Ponyboy went positively red at his question, as if he had hoped that Steve had been deaf enough not to have heard him play.

Ponyboy chuckled then.

"As if I'll let a greaser like you tell me what to play. I'm a guy with class."

And Steve, he couldn't help it. He laughed.

* * *

Sodapop grunted as he heaved himself out of the passenger seat of Darry's truck, Darrel himself doing the same from the driver's side.

What a nightmare, a two-hour long nightmare.

While it was true that he'd just been looking for a broad to pass the time with and nothing more, the girl he actually met up with, well, he wouldn't say she fell into that category.

Needless to add, It'd been a tortuous evening.

When Sodadpop just could not take anymore of the girl's crap, he excused himself, paid for their meal, and hightailed it out of there and towards the nearest phone, harvesting on high hopes that Darry would give him a swift ride home.

To his luck, his older brother was just about to clock out, and answered his prayer. When he finally got there, Darry looked as drained as Soda felt, and the ride went silent.

Sodapop just hoped Pony had a better day than them.

Then, the older Curtises froze dead, standing just short of their porch, as piano tunes coming from inside the house brutally attacked them.

Soda could bet that he had hoped right.

Even more so when sudden laughter bloomed in between melody breaks. Someone was in there with his younger brother.

Laughter flared up again, stronger than before.

And that…

That did not sound like Two-Bit.

In fact, it sounded a lot like…

The two brothers shared a confused look, before striding up the stairs of the porch and opening the front door without warning.

Two startled pairs of eyes met theirs.

Ponyboy gaped back at them from where he sat on the piano stool, his fingers hovering mere inches over the keys, clearly showing that he'd been just about to continue playing.

Steve sat on a chair that he'd pulled away from the kitchen table and placed just next to the grand instrument, beer in one hand. In the other, and Sodapop could not believe this, the mechanic held a music sheet. Something told the middle brother that his friend had attempted to read along as the younger played from memory, hence the uncontrolled spurts of laughter.

All four of them just stood there, frozen, nothing but their eyes moving, glancing around nervously, or repeatedly blinking. Finally, Steve awkwardly cleared his throat and began to stand from his seat, his head lowered in an unusual manner.

Ponyboy's voice stopped him from moving any further though.

"Hi Soda, Hi Darry. How was your day?" He asked, Steve kept his face down.

"Hey Pony." Sodapop greeted as cheerfully as he could muster, then, he turned to his best friend, frowning slightly.

"Something wrong Steve-

"Want me to play something for you?" His younger brother offered, interrupting Soda's inquiry.

That was odd, both other Curtises realized, real odd.

"Sure Ponyboy." Darry answered, walking to his usual spot on the sofa chair. "Just try not to play too loud, I'm beat."

He gave Steve a long hard stare.

"What's wrong with your face Steve?"

Sodapop watched carefully as his best buddy let out a tired sigh, and finally faced them fully. With none of the previous shock to cloud his vision now, Soda bristled as the giant bruised that glared vividly back at them.

"Who the hell did that?" Darry gave him a stern look for cursing, but Soda couldn't bring himself to care as he essentially dashed to stand before his best friend.

Steve gave a small shrug.

"Some dams socials lookin' for trouble down the street. This ain't nothin', you should see what I left of 'em."

'He's lying.' Sodapop knew immediately, and he was about to push on when he caught the harsh look that Ponyboy was giving him. It told him not to ask, it told him that it was too personal.

It told him that Pony didn't know either.

"So, how did it go?" Steve changed the topic, asking about the date. In the background, began to play something soft and slow in the background.

God, how they'd missed to hear him play.

It did not, however, change the sour answer that he had for Steve's question.

"Awful, really. I don't think even Two-Bit could stand her for a day."

He saw disappointment briefly cross over Steve's eyes before the greaser laughed.

"Well, that means both of us had a bullshit day."

Sodapop snorted. "Guess so."

Sodapop did not want to talk more about his less that pleasant and he really wanted to press Steve further on the deep shade of purple blooming across his face, but suddenly all he can hear is the piano. The piano and Ponyboy. The piano, Ponyboy and his mother, and he did not want to hear anything else for the rest of the night.

Steve, apparently, could read his mind. Throwing an arm across his shoulder, he smirked at him, though the glint couldn't quite reach his eyes.

"You look beat, man. Bum on the couch for a while, relax, the kids puttin' on a whole show and, well, ya need it."

Soda smiled. "That goes for both of us."

Steve paused for a second, before looking back at him.

"Yeah, guess we do… and Darry."

"And Darry."

A grunt rose from the sofa chair, the two greasers laughed.

* * *

Steve crashed on their couch, and he could still hear the music that had followed him since he first neared the Curtis household that afternoon, even though Pony had long since gone to bed.

He knew he'd have to head back home eventually, like he always did.

But right now, music.

Just music.


End file.
